Published at 09:41, Friday, 12 February 2010

IS there any better way to spend a Sunday afternoon than by going for a stroll on the beach?

It is something Mrs Hextol and I have done on numerous occasions, yet it never seems to pall.

Whether shuffling through the talcum powder of a sun-kissed Caribbean shore, or finding side-plate sized shells amongst the fantastical caves of the Algarve, there is something endlessly alluring about the sea.

Yet it is not necessary to go to foreign parts to enjoy the lure of the ocean; the other weekend, we piled the two dogs and a hastily compiled picnic into the back of the car, and went to Druridge Bay.

This jewel of the Northumberland coast has a special place in our affections, simply because we never know what the weather will be like until we actually get there.

A couple of years ago, we left Bellingham on a baking hot day, shorted and summer-topped, only to find that the coast itself was shrouded in the thickest, darkest and most impenetrable fog I have ever come across.

It was not so much a sea fret, more of a sea total nervous breakdown.

Seagulls hawked and spat, and the seals bobbing about in the water appeared to be wearing mufflers.

After a dismal hour, we fled back to the car – and a couple of hundred yards later, we were back in the blazing heat of a July day.

On another day, we took the entire family, including my father, who at the time had an obsession with kites.

Power lines, fences and other inconveniences meant he could not fly it freely at home, but the glorious open spaces of Druridge Bay were deemed just the job.

He purchased three 500-yard reels of heavy duty fishing line to attach to the already considerable spools of nylon on the kite, determined to get his Mr Sheen flying machine a mile into the air.

He brushed aside my concerns about our proximity to the low-flying jets and helicopters of RAF Boulmer, and the little kite was soon disappearing through the hole in the ozone layer.

At the same time, one of the Hextol offspring indicated his disappointment that Druridge Bay consisted only of sea and sand, while he had joined the expedition expecting the candy floss, slot machines and hurdy-gurdies of Whitley Bay.

“It’s just down the coast – I’m going to walk there,” he announced with all the authority of his seven years, and we watched indulgently as he strode purposefully south.

Then, with startling suddenness, he was engulfed in a wall of whiteness, as another sea fret came hurtling in from the sea like Usain Bolt.

The next 10 minutes were somewhat harrowing, as Mrs Hextol and I blundered after the child, groping our way through the pea-souper, and falling over the corpses of half-decayed black-backed gulls and foetid fish, while the little blighter ignored our urgent calls to stand still until we found him.

Occasionally, the mist would part briefly, and we would catch a glimpse of his red shorts, still plodding determinedly towards the Spanish City, before the swirling vapours closed once more.

Panic was about to descend when he reappeared, walking back towards us, and muttering: “I’ve changed me mind.”

We were too relieved to clatter his lugs, and moments later, the fret lifted just as suddenly as it had arrived.

This month’s surprise was that it was a crisp, cold day at Bellingham – but when we got to the coast, we found it under several inches of snow.

We expected to have the beach virtually to ourselves, but not a bit of it; despite the pack ice, virtually every inch of parking space was occupied by cars, and well-wrapped hearty types were fol-de-reeing over the dunes towards the sand, bob-hats bobbing.

I expect they were visitors from the South though; not one of them responded to our cheery greetings.

Sand and snow is not a combination I have ever come across before, and the dogs were more than a little bewildered.

It was all too much for the senior dog’s wasted back legs, and she fell over a lot, but the puppy thought it was fantastic, creating her own snowy sandstorm as she dug joyously in the dunes, and even managed to hide her disappointment when her favourite Frisbee vanished into the crashing waters of the North Sea.

Published by http://www.hexhamcourant.co.uk